


drown all the lovers

by lucion



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8929147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucion/pseuds/lucion
Summary: It’s hard to hide a broken heart when you wear it like an open wound. (But Kyungsoo tries, anyway.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For CH, thank you for always letting me build stories with you.
> 
>  
> 
> I came up with this in August 2016, but I never intended to actually write it. I guess I did, after all.
> 
> Originally posted as 'Wicked Games' but I had a change of mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Coarse language, sexual themes, alcohol consumption, a little bit of blood

  
  


 

 

*** 

 

_Drown All The Lovers — Prologue_

 

 

People don’t just hop and skip and dive into falling in love.

Everyone knows you can’t heedlessly throw yourself into the fire without a second thought. Everyone knows cloud nine isn’t an easy place to stay. Love hurts, and bleeds. Love might get you killed. A broken heart is an open wound, and the more it breaks, the more you bleed. The more it breaks, the worse it hurts. Everyone knows, and everyone is careful. Romance is rare. Most people find love once, and they stay in that love. They marry, and they never divorce. Falling out of love could mean the death of the one who stays in its grasp. When you fall in love, you fall in love forever. You get mighty fucked up along the way, because lovers fight, and lovers harm each other. But you heal, because at the end of the day, you still love one another.  
  
Yet people go through therapy to fall out of love.  
  
If you aren’t careful enough, and you fall into unrequited love, you set yourself up for a heart-wrenching pain, that rips, and scratches, and stabs. And it doesn’t stop until love stops. People go through therapy to fall out of unrequited love. People go through therapy to save themselves. Psychologists and psychotherapists mend broken hearts. Everyone knows this. Kyungsoo knows this, too.

But he still hops and skips and dives into falling in love. 

Kyungsoo majors in philosophy at a decent-enough university, and works part-time at a shitty diner, where he gets overworked and underpaid. The upside is Chanyeol, who is older, taller, good looking and nice to talk to. Chanyeol listens to him compare light bulbs to the circle of life, and whatever else his studies require him to ramble about. Kyungsoo falls in love too easily, and way too quickly. And he stays in love, even after Baekhyun shows up. Even after he catches the pair sharing butterfly kisses in the stuffy kitchen. Even after his chest is torn up and aching. It’s not too big of a wound—a gash right across his chest that stings whenever Chanyeol meets his eyes and smiles. Kyungsoo keeps it bandaged, but sometimes it bleeds through. When Chanyeol talks about Baekhyun, Kyungsoo winces, and he has to run to the bathroom to make sure his pristine, white shirt isn’t dotted with red. He pretends it isn’t that big of a deal. He convinces himself that it’s healing, and that his feelings are fading.  
  
And they eventually do. It takes a while, and it keeps hurting, but it fades. Even if there are little pin pricks in his chest at Chanyeol and Baekhyun’s housewarming party, he’s happy for the two of them. It’s a pretty cool party, even if Kyungsoo has a crush on Chanyeol, who’s moving in with someone who isn’t him. Their apartment is nice, and Kyungsoo’s head swims a little when he shuffles out of the crowded living room. He’s not sad, but there’s something tragic lingering in the air as he sits himself down on a dirty, plastic chair on the tiny balcony. He has a red cup of something strong in his hands, and a single whiff of it has his insides churning. It’s cold outside, the sky cloudy. It’s calm, and Kyungsoo tunes out the booming bass and moving bodies on the other side of the rattling window. He barely reacts when someone slides the balcony door open and struts their way over, arms coming to fling themselves nonchalantly over the railing, body leaning heavily forward beside him.

"What are you doing?"  
  
The voice isn’t familiar. It’s a little bit gruff, maybe from smoking, and deep. A little bit nice. Kyungsoo spares the other but a glance. The man is a stranger and maybe he's drunk, and it really doesn't matter.

"Star gazing", Kyungsoo replies, "Only there are no stars."

There's silence after that, for a while. Kyungsoo expects the man to light himself a cigarette, but he doesn’t.

"Unrequited love is dangerous", the man mumbles, clear enough, meant for Kyungsoo's ears, "you know that, right?"

It's not that bad, really. Kyungsoo only has a minor cut left, merely razor deep, and it stopped bleeding about a month ago, the bandages only there to serve as _what-ifs_ , so he wonders how the other noticed. It probably shows on his face, because the man smiles a little.  
  
"I know", Kyungsoo says.


	2. I/II

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _who’s most afraid of death?  
>  _ _thou art of him utterly afraid  
>  _ _i love of thee  
>  _ _(beloved) this  
>  _ _and truly i would be  
>  _ _near when his scythe takes crisply the whim  
>  _ _of thy smoothness  
>  _ _and mark the fainting  
>  _ _murdered petals  
>  _ _with caving stem_
> 
> _but of all most would i be one of them_
> 
>  
> 
> — e.e cummings

 

 

 

_Part I/II — 4.6k words_

 

 

  
  
***

 

Days pass in a restless blur before they meet again. It happens without warning, Kyungsoo heading for the round table on the library's second floor, the one in the far right corner by the windows. Usually the spot is empty, save for the stacks of books that other students leave behind when they’re too comfortable to put them back in their rightful places. The wind has blown colour into Kyungsoo’s cheeks when he sees the man sitting there, between the bookshelves, his hand scribbling away in a notebook that's not as precise as he looks himself. He's all serious buttoned up shirt, fitted into a nice pair of black bottoms, round glasses and his chestnut brown hair neatly slicked back. He’s more reserved, less smiley—less _drunk_ , perhaps. The man looks up, auburn eyes blank but glinting from the little lights in the ceiling. Kyungsoo has no choice but to walk ahead and meet those eyes with more social courage than ever (not really, Kyungsoo is a sociable 22-year old, but he likes to study alone).  

"You look better", is the first thing the other tells him.

Kyungsoo wonders once more how he knows, because now the little cut is healed, the crust of dried blood just a little fleck on his skin. There’s nothing else to see, he thinks. No apparent change. It's been three weeks since the party and Kyungsoo doesn't have a crush on Chanyeol anymore. Said man is too vocal about his feelings for Baekhyun, too loud about 'Baekhyun is so fucking dumb, but I'm dumber' and Kyungsoo falls out without even trying.  

“I guess I do”, Kyungsoo shrugs. “How did you notice?”  
  
The other grins at that, flicking a loose strand away from his forehead, offering his hand. “I’m Kim Jongin. Third year, psychology major.”

It clicks in Kyungsoo’s head, then. Of course he’s a psychology major. He shakes Jongin’s hand, eyes downcast, and a small smile playing on his lips. When he looks back up, the other’s eyebrow is quirked in mock offense, and Kyungsoo almost chuckles.  
  
“Do Kyungsoo”, he says. “Philosophy, fourth year.”  
  
It’s funny how both of them have gone three years in the same orbit without ever crossing paths. It’s funny that Chanyeol never has mentioned Kim Jongin—or maybe it’s funnier that Chanyeol never has mentioned Do Kyungsoo. Jongin smiles, and Kyungsoo resists the urge to roll his eyes at how impossibly attractive the man is.  
  
They don’t share more than a few subtle glances in each other’s directions, Kyungsoo’s timid gaze always caught by Jongin’s all too knowing irises. They stay side by side, thick books open in front of them, until Kyungsoo has to leave for his evening shift. Jongin walks him to the exit, winks and salutes, and Kyungsoo snorts in mild amusement.

 

***

 

When Kyungsoo ties the grotesque apron around his waist and meets Chanyeol in the kitchen he can’t stop himself from asking about tall dark and handsome who stole his special spot in the library.

“Kim Jongin, huh?”, Chanyeol grins. “Watch out.”

They’re busy preparing the food supplies for the evening, both on kitchen duty while their coworkers deal with the customers. They only have one cook out of two in for the night, so everything has to be organised. It’s tiring, Chanyeol is a little clumsy and Kyungsoo is easily annoyed when things topple over and food is spilled.  
  
“Huh?”, Kyungsoo frowns. “‘ _Watch out_ ’? Are you going to tell me he’s a force of nature or something.”  
  
Chanyeol keeps the obnoxiously wide leer on his lips as he opens the pantry to hand Kyungsoo a refill for the coffee machine. “Jongin fucks around a lot.”  
  
“We’re just friends”, the shorter mumbles, “sort of.”  
  
“Jongin doesn’t have a lot of _friends_. Detachment is his thing, you know.”  
  
Kyungsoo bites his lip. “Why?”  
  
“He says it’s easier that way.” Chanyeol laughs, and he looks a little apologetic, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. “You should ask him yourself.”  
  
A faint spread of pink flourishes on the apples of Kyungsoo’s cheeks, and he refrains from asking anything more. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.

 

***

 

Kyungsoo doesn’t expect to see Jongin by his table again, the following Thursday afternoon. His eyes widen profusely, and the other’s laughter rings loudly in the quiet library. He looks just as good as before, his hair gelled up, only a little messier than last time, a knitted sweater hugging his torso all too perfectly.

“Hello, Kim Jongin”, Kyungsoo greets, pushing his thick frames up on his nose as he sits down.  
  
Jongin smiles. “Good afternoon, Do Kyungsoo. Nice glasses.”  
  
“Thanks. Nice—”, Kyungsoo wets his bottom lip, “everything.”

Jongin’s sharp eyes are soft and twinkling with boyish delight as they linger, but he doesn’t say anything more. His notebook is filled with scribbles, and a thick copy of _“Games People Play”_ by Eric Berne rests idly to his right, open wide on page 108. _Sweetheart_ , Kyungsoo reads in thick letters on the top of the page, and his eyes flicker to Jongin’s notes, finding the same word written in black ink. The endearment looks absolutely grim in the other’s messy and thin handwriting.

“Do you still think love is a dangerous thing?”, Kyungsoo mumbles, a lot more to himself than to Jongin, but the man reacts anyway.  
  
He looks up, hand still holding onto his pen. Kyungsoo gulps. “Your book—I just happened to notice.”  
  
“Absolutely”, he says, unfazed, and straightens up. “It’s lethal. You’d do best in staying away from it.”

“I—”  
  
Jongin runs a hand through his locks and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks smug. Much less boyish, this way.

“You’d know, right?”, he says. 

Kyungsoo isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be an insult or not, so he bites his tongue.

“It’s completely healed now, isn’t it? You look good, got some colour in your cheeks.” But then Jongin’s smile falters just a tiny bit as he bends forward, suddenly so, so close. The tips of his nimble fingers hover over the lilac bags under Kyungsoo’s eyes, and his eyebrows crease together. “Make sure you sleep. If you lose sleep, you lose your sanity. It’s a known fact.”

Kyungsoo gently pushes the man’s hand away. “Okay, Doctor Kim.”  
  
Jongin laughs at that, again, still as shrill and loud. It’s strangely charming, and Kyungsoo wonders if the other would hate him if he knew it warms his entire body to the very core.

 

***

 

Jongin turns out to be an enigma Kyungsoo can’t explain even with his metaphors and pretty comparisons. He doesn’t even try. Chanyeol doesn’t tell him much, and he never asks anymore, either way. The third time they meet, Kyungsoo’s still as surprised. Jongin is still as awfully handsome. The pouring rain outside did little to ruin his appearance. His hair is ruffled and a little wet, but he’s beautiful as ever, and Kyungsoo sighs.  
  
“So, _Do Kyungsoo_ ”, Jongin beams. “Wonderful weather we’re having.”   
  
Kyungsoo’s jeans cling uncomfortably to his thighs, soaked through, and Jongin ogles his legs momentarily, suggestive eyes unabashedly measuring his shivering body.

“Wonderful”, Kyungsoo grunts, but he’s smiling too.

Jongin’s reading a new book, a heavier one, with endless pages.

“Interesting?”, Kyungsoo asks, thumbing at the paperback.  
  
Jongin shakes his head, the simper still present on his lips. “Terrible, actually.”  
  
Kyungsoo leans closer, squinting to read the small print. “' _Side effects’_ ”, he reads, “' _of divorce therapy’_ ...?”  
  
Jongin sends him a look, and he quickly averts his eyes, training them on the page once again.  
  
“‘ _Post Pinathril treatment’_ — _’risk for wound reopening’_ —uh.”

The other man, lean and tall in all his glory, stretches his arms behind his head. “Boring stuff”, he chuckles. “It’s nothing I don’t already know about.”  
  
“It sounds a bit melodramatic”, Kyungsoo argues, softly. “Falling in love isn’t too bad.” He smiles solemnly, remembering all the bloody sheets he’s had to change time and time again. It twinges uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

”Falling in love ain’t shit, Kyungsoo”, Jongin says, and his voice is suddenly cold enough to force the other to look at him. His eyes are suddenly hard, and Kyungsoo wonders if he’s said something wrong. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called something that _kills_ people ‘melodramatic’. He figures psychologists aren’t all too in fond of the idea of people being reckless and filled with scattered butterflies and fuzzy feelings when they could snap them in half and destroy them in no time. Somewhere, deep down, Kyungsoo wonders if Jongin worries about his fickle heart. He wonders if Jongin has ever seen someone die.

The silence falls heavy on his shoulders, and he just barely dares to breathe. He doesn’t speak until Jongin nudges him, the pitter patter on the windows no longer as loud, and the sky dark. The man looks at him with familiar, warm eyes.  
  
“It’s already six”, he says, and Kyungsoo nods.

 

***

 

Kyungsoo remembers the men and women stepping into his room at the orphanage when he was four. He remembers their gentle smiles, and how they held each other so tenderly. How they looked at him with adoration, how warm their hands were when they ruffled his short, black hair. He remembers how they gave him nicknames, syrupy sweet on their tongues. Love was good. Love was warm. But love always left. Love always hurt. The people who came never took him with them when they went. Nobody wanted to keep him. Kyungsoo got his first wound when he was five. Kyungsoo remembers his little heart beating in his ribcage, fluttering like a little bird. He remembers how it bled. Kyungsoo remembers himself as a child, never ever without bandages or plasters. Kyungsoo remembers growing up, always searching for it, for love. Always wanting to find its embrace again.  
  
Kyungsoo remembers falling, aching, and growing tired of it all, nursing his wounds and bitterly wondering if looking for a love that would love him back was no more than a child’s dream.  

 

***

 

“You’re awfully quiet, Kyungsoo”, Baekhyun says, after stopping mid-sentence. “Were you paying attention?”  
  
It’s Friday night, the diner nearing closing time, and Kyungsoo has been off for an hour already. Baekhyun came in around the same time to wait for Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo ended up keeping the man company. Baekhyun isn’t too bad of a person. Kyungsoo couldn’t hate him even for a second, if he’d give it a try. Baekhyun is loud, rivalling his boyfriend, but he’s wittier and his mouth runs faster than Chanyeol’s ever could.  
  
“Yeah”, Kyungsoo replies lazily, eyes rereading the same sentence in his book for the third time.

“Yeah?” Baekhyun smirks. He looks wild, his hair red and in complete disarray. “I was saying we’re going out tomorrow, and you should come along.”  
  
It’s their _thing_ —Kyungsoo figured it out after the housewarming party—to spend weekends by bars or in clammy spaces with stranger bodies jumping in a collective rush. Chanyeol and Baekhyun are hot-blooded people with high adrenaline levels. They’re also very nice, with hearts of gold, and Kyungsoo is thankful. He’s happy Chanyeol is happy, even if it isn’t with him. It’s okay—it doesn’t as much as _itch_.  
  
“Tomorrow? I have an essay due Wednesday.”  
  
He tries to focus on his reading again, and Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Do Kyungsoo!”, he exclaims. “You don’t need _four days_ to write a _three page_ essay.”  
  
Kyungsoo looks at him, incredulous. He’s not entirely convinced.

“Stop being boring. Jongin is coming.”    
  
It’s as if he uttered the magic words, cracking a grin so malicious Kyungsoo sighs and gives in. Chanyeol’s warning echoes at the back of his head, but it’s too far away and he’s convinced he’s in too deep already.

“Fine”, he says. ” _Fine_.”

 

***

The air inside the nightclub is humid Saturday night, uncomfortably so, and Kyungsoo’s head swims a little at the pungent smell of alcohol. He’s not good at holding his liquor, so he never drinks, but Chanyeol buys them round after round without asking for approval. Someone named Yixing and said man’s friend Luhan join them as the hours tick by, and Kyungsoo feels more like the fifth wheel than anything. The strain behind his eyes is bordering painful, and his contact lenses are starting to feel slightly dry.  
  
“Hey”, someone mumbles, and he’s suddenly pushed aside a little where he’s sitting, a warm body making space for itself next to him. “You look like you’re about to cry. Everything okay?”  
  
It takes a blink and a breath to sober up, and Kyungsoo looks back at Jongin, who’s smiling in a wicked way, a white shirt barely buttoned up clinging to his body in all the right ways. He looks so good Kyungsoo almost says it out loud, and it rips just a bit in his throat trying to swallow it down.  
  
“Yeah”, he nods instead. “Just, my lenses.”  
  
“You seem lonely”, the other mumbles, fingers curling around Kyungsoo’s half empty drink, “And wasted.” He chugs the green remains down with a satisfied _‘ahh’_ , and it makes Kyungsoo giggle. Jongin looks happy with the reaction.  
  
“Can I buy you another drink?”, the man grins, his eyes is crescent moons, coaxing a full out laugh out of Kyungsoo.  
  
Jongin orders shots and redbull vodkas, and Kyungsoo drinks without a thought in the world. It’s easy when Jongin drinks with him, when their thighs are pressing together under the table. It’s easy to make Jongin laugh, easier to laugh with him.

They talk, and talk, and _talk_ , and Kyungsoo finds that Jongin isn’t an enigma, at all. Jongin is nothing but a thick book with millions of pages and provocative words daring him to read and never stop.  

 

***

 

“You know how he is!!”, Chanyeol barks, banging his fist on the countertop, wheezing from laughter. “Insung cleans up his messes so effortlessly, they couldn’t fire him if they tried!”  
  
He’s telling a story about their senior co-worker, a middle-aged man who slinks one or two coins from the checkout into his own pockets when he thinks nobody’s watching. Kyungsoo hums, swabbing the floor distractedly. Yifan laughs, all the way from the storage room, because that’s how loud Chanyeol is. Kyungsoo’s head is pounding, a migraine growing steadily. Midterms are coming up, and he’s been losing more sleep than he usually does. He snickers a little when he thinks of the disapproving look Jongin will give him when he sees.

It’s too early in the morning, and Kyungsoo’s shift ends soon. He has class until noon, and his eyes water just from thinking about how he’ll have to force them open for three hours straight.

“Kyungsoo!”, Chanyeol booms again, voice rivalling the steady humming of the dishwasher. “You look like you’re going to collapse any second. Jongin’s gonna kill you.”  
  
The younger fights a grin. The library meetups happen regularly now. After the second time came a third, and then it simply kept happening again, and again, until Kyungsoo’s surprise faded completely. Their joined study sessions have stopped being accidental. Jongin has become comfortable enough to rest his head in Kyungsoo’s lap, and Kyungsoo has become comfortable enough to card through the shiny strands and lightly scrape his nails to Jongin’s scalp. Maybe it was the night in the club, maybe it was the drinks and the smiles. He isn’t sure, and it doesn’t really matter. He’s never had a friend quite like Kim Jongin.

“Your shift ends in fifteen. You can go.”

Kyungsoo looks skeptic. “Are you sure? The floor won’t clean itself.”  
  
Chanyeol practically swabs him out to the back room, and he just shakes his head. He’d laugh, if he’d have energy to spare. He doesn’t. Yifan shoves a cup of coffee into his hand before he leaves

He’s thankful for the caffeine, two and a half hours later, when his hand is cramping from stubbornly taking notes, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His phone distracts him for a second—Jongin with a cryptic message about their meet-up place. It’s so typical, the wording, the mind play. Jongin is constantly testing Kyungsoo, and the latter finds it oddly exciting. Jongin is playful. Beneath everything serious and mundane, terms and diagnosis, Jongin laughs the loudest, dances the best, drinks the most. Kyungsoo knows. He smiles a little at the lit up screen, a little too long, and misses out on half a page of important sentences.

When he arrives at the café, following Jongin’s decoded directions, it is ten minutes past noon. The place is cosy and smells of sugary sweets, and the walls are in the darkest of navy hues. It’s a small space  just a minute and a street away from the library. His eyes are widely scanning the area for a familiar face as he orders another cup of coffee.  
  
“Black”, he mumbles, and rubs at his temple. The girl behind the counter nods.

“Double that. And two of those down there”, comes a voice close to his ear, a warm hand on the small of his back.

He looks to his side and catches Jongin’s eye for a second, smouldering, brown irises meeting his own dull ones. Jongin leans over the counter to pay, but Kyungsoo’s gaze remains on him, taking in his jaw, the way it moves when he talks, and the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down with the sounds falling from his lips. The hand splayed on his back stays, and guides him through the throng of people to find an empty seat for the both of them.   
  
“Here?”, Jongin asks, gesturing over a wooden table. “Good enough for essay writing?”  
  
Kyungsoo hums, and the other sinks down into the sofa opposite of him. He’s got a seamless, portmanteau-looking bag with him, and he pulls out his notebook and a tattered copy of a textbook. Kyungsoo squints, pushes his glasses up to catch the title.

“‘ _The theories of successful emotional control’_ ”, he reads, and Jongin looks up in affirmative. Their orders arrive and Kyungsoo smiles absentmindedly at the waitress, hands grabbing at the laptop in his backpack.  
  
A comfortable silence settles between them, a common and soothing one, lulling Kyungsoo’s headache into a stop. His fingers tap away at the keyboard of his heavy and expensive Macbook, his brows furrowed together in concentration. He is only half a page away from the required amount, and he’d like to finish without stressing through the early hours on due date day. He’s writing about the illusion of conscious will _,_ and he’s sure Jongin would have a lot to say about his theories if he knew. He glances at the other male, follows the lines of his body and beyond, accidentally locking eyes with a stranger sitting in the corner farthest away from them. He looks away, briefly, before taking in their surroundings, fighting a grin off his lips.  
  
"They're staring", Kyungsoo's eyes dance over to the queue behind Jongin's content, collected expression.  
  
"At you?", the other teases, under his breath.  
  
Kyungsoo makes a face, "Don't be ridiculous", he hisses.  
  
"Let them stare", Jongin chuckles, brings a cup of bitter coffee to his lips and sips, his eyebrows doing that thing they do when he's amused, "I’m not interested in what they have to offer."  
  
"Ouch", Kyungsoo jokes, bites into his pastry, "harsh."  
  
Jongin shrugs. "Somebody's heartbreak."

Kyungsoo gasps at that, only half serious, and Jongin huffs out a laugh. He’s sure a psychologist shouldn’t ever utter such words.

It's such a waste, Kyungsoo thinks, because Jongin looks so, so, good in that woolen turtleneck and those tight fitting trousers, right there, in the cramped café.

 

**

 

Jongin always leaves when Kyungsoo leaves for his night shift, and he keeps fussing over how sleep is important for the brain, keeps going about his psychological tests, examining and studying and observing and Kyungsoo narrows his eyes because _“Kim Jongin, I'm not your goddamn test subject, I'm your_ friend”. Jongin smiles the way he did that night at the lousy not-really-lousy party.

”Friend?”

”Yes, Jongin, shut up.”  

It’s already five thirty, and Kyungsoo is going to be late for work, but he finished his essay and the cold breeze to his flushed cheeks is comforting. He doesn’t hurry his steps, and the male walking next to him pays no heed.  
  
“I don’t have a lot of friends.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
The corners of Jongin’s mouth twitch upwards. “Did Chanyeol tell you that?”  
  
Kyungsoo hums. “How do you know him, anyway?” 

“I slept with him”, Jongin states, simply, and Kyungsoo chokes on air.

“You _what_?”

The other shakes his head, reaches out to pull Kyungsoo back to his side. “Don’t look so scandalised, Kyungsoo. It was years ago, high school even.”  
  
Something sinks in Kyungsoo, a jumbled mess of something he can’t pinpoint. He frowns, and Jongin pulls him closer, chuckling.  
  
“I didn’t know him back then”, he continues. “He was the smart kid who went to uni and I thought he was attractive enough. That’s all.”

“And then?”, Kyungsoo asks. He’s unsure if he’s feeling put off because Jongin has slept with his crush— _ex-_ crush—or if it’s because he’s had too much coffee with too little sleep.  
  
“Then I got to know him.” His eyes gleam prettily in the streetlights, and Kyungsoo sighs. “And he got to know me, in exchange. Safe to say I’m never sleeping with him again.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s laughter is hollow and thin, his stomach still uncomfortably twisting, but he laughs nonetheless.

 

***

 

Months pass. Seasons change. Jongin remains the same.  
  
Kyungsoo is still uncomfortable whenever the other and Chanyeol are breathing in the same space. Jongin smirks knowingly, and Kyungsoo squirms. Chanyeol is too busy with Baekhyun to even notice.  
  
Sometimes Jongin steps into the diner at odd hours. When Kyungsoo has long night shifts ending at two in the morning, he comes in around one fifteen, his hair tousled and his pupils dilated into something that smells like wine and deliriousness. They never have many customers during the after hours, so he always sits with him. He listens to Jongin talk. The man talks the most when he’s been drinking, spilling stories that stick to the stars in the night sky, with a wide smile plastered onto his face. He looks at Kyungsoo in such a funny way, under the yellow light of the cheap lamp hanging from the ceiling. It makes his fingers tingle a little. He’s so fond of Jongin like this, so fond of Jongin when he’s speaking slow and soft. He’s always fond of Jongin, with rough edges and sarcasm, every occasional rude remark and the way he carries himself like he knows exactly what he’s worth. At times like these, during nonsensical conversations, Kyungsoo wonders what it means. He wonders what it is with Jongin that has him strung to him, what it is that makes the man so fascinating. What it is that churns in the pit of his guts. Jongin meets his imploring stare, and holds him in place. Kyungsoo wonders why he doesn’t dare to move.  
  
Chanyeol sends him a look from behind the counter, his tall figure looming there, hands busy counting pennies. His shoulders are tense, eyes avoiding, as if he knows something Kyungsoo doesn’t. He swallows the worry that bubbles in his throat back down.   
  
When Jongin leaves, Kyungsoo slumps against the wall in the kitchen.

“I did the dishes before”, he mutters. “Need anymore help?”  
  
Chanyeol smiles. “No, it’s all right.”  
  
He huffs faintly. “Okay.” Kyungsoo shuffles to the back room to gather his belongings. “I’ll be leaving, then.”  
  
“See you tomorrow!”, the other shouts back. “Oh, and Kyungsoo?”  
  
The younger stops.

“Don’t—have your hopes up for Jongin.”  
  
The diner is suddenly stuffy and Kyungsoo nods, because he isn’t sure what that means, or what he’s supposed to answer.

 

***

 

He finds himself finding out the hard way. The bad way. The way that hurts.  
  
It would've hurt anyway, sooner or later, but it stings too bad, too fast. It's another one of those lousy parties, except it's actually quite lousy this time. So they leave, dumb and dumber hand in hand, someone called Jongdae and Joon-something, Hyoyeon and Tiffany, Taemin and Sehun, Kyungsoo and Jongin.  
  
"That's a lot of people", Kyungsoo mumbles, nudging Jongin's side.

Jongin laughs airily, looking pleased with himself

"Friends?", Kyungsoo presses, because none of them are from his department. “ _News flash!!”_ , Tiffany had laughed earlier, _“No one takes fucking philosophy, Kyungil!”_

"What friends?", Jongin bites back, and Kyungsoo laughs. Jongin is so terribly _Jongin_ , and he looks too good to be true.   
  
They’re on the lookout for a club with booths fit for the lot of them. Baekhyun leads the way, eagerly so, and Jongin stumbles behind him, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. They find a place, and they stand in line for so long that Kyungsoo’s toes go numb in his shoes. Jongin chortles, tells him to wriggle them the best he can, and Kyungsoo swats at him, weakly.  
  
“Cute”, the man comments, and Kyungsoo bites down on his own lip _hard_.  
  
When they are finally let into the confines of artificial smoke and strobe lights, Jongin disappears. They order drinks together, but when they arrive he’s alone. Kyungsoo thinks he catches sight of the taller man a few times, but he looks away, and empties the glasses with fervour.  
He doesn't search for him — Jongin doesn't want to be searched for. Less than anything, found, Kyungsoo believes. Perhaps there's that coiling feeling of dread telling him that he doesn't want to find Jongin, either.

But Kyungsoo finds Jongin. He grows tired of the loud music and the cocktails and mocktails, one glass of wine two glasses of water, disgusting beer, disgusting _disgusting_ , Piña Colada that Chanyeol orders for the three of them (Baekhyun wants, Baekhyun gets) and leaves for Kyungsoo to down on his own.  

Kyungsoo finds Jongin as he wobbles just a little to get away from the crowd and the girls who apparently can't see that he's so homosexual he even wears the _stupid earring_ just to show. There’s a second floor where the bass is but a pound in the walls with people pressed against them, sloppy, drunken mouths sliding together. He finds a door that he opens, and he finds Jongin. He finds Jongin doing what he said he does best. _Fucking around_ . He finds Jongin emotionally detached but as close to love making the man allows himself to get. Kyungsoo finds Jongin fucking someone into a bed that isn't even clean, and he _winces._ It’s not because he thinks it’s appalling, he's too gone to bother the hygiene. Jongin glistens with sweat and he looks like a fucking god, and _god_ , it turns Kyungsoo on so much, but it hurts worse.

Kyungsoo is not sure if Jongin sees him as he stumbles back like a scared animal, because it frightens him. Never has he felt such a sharp pain and never has his eyes stung as much.  
  
"Kyungsoo—what", Chanyeol gets out of his low-tolerance alcohol induced system when Kyungsoo scrambles to grab his jacket.  
  
He knows that it's too obvious, that everyone can see, and he is suffocating under their pity, so he flees.  
  
The red stain is dark and covering one third of the front of his white shirt, with drips down to the hem of his jeans by the time he arrives home to his empty apartment.  

“Why”, Kyungsoo cries, angrily, as he cleans the wound and hisses at the smarting, wraps it with a bandage, “ _why did it have to be him_.”

  
  
***   
  
  
  
_TBC_


End file.
